forever is composed of here and now
by Laora
Summary: They've survived Fallen Angels—they've lived through more together in a year than most do in a lifetime—but Christina and Lichty's relationship has only just begun.
_Written for the Gundam 00 week happening over on Tumblr, for the prompt 'trust.'_

 _This is set in some wonderful, nonspecific Fallen Angels AU where nobody dies and everyone lives happily ever after. Don't ask me about timelines or plot, because I don't have them figured out. Basically, I just needed fluff for Chris and Lichty because they are under-appreciated and adorable, okay?_

 _There's some discussion of medical terminology/injuries and a hell of a lot of nerdy headcanons about Lichty's body. It's not squicky at all, in my opinion, but I thought I'd throw it out there just in case, because I think my idea of 'body squick' might be a little skewed, haha._

 _Rated T (in addition to the canon-typical violence/potential body horror) for discussions/thoughts of sex, though the most that happens on-screen is kissing. **Spoilers through the end of season 1.**_

* * *

Lichty hears Chris send Feldt away from the bridge, away from certain death—is so, so relieved when the younger girl obliges, clearly worried about the GN particle storage on the Assault Container. Ian and Miss Sumeragi and Doctor Moreno are already there, defending the Ptolemy with what reserves they have left alongside a badly injured Lockon. The battle is a lost cause—every one of them can see it—but what can they do but fight for their lives and the lives of their friends until their very last breaths? Lichty can do little behind the throttles of a badly handicapped mothership; Chris can do nothing but monitor their slowly-dying comrades. Tieria's comm link has already gone dark, and Lockon's and Allelujah's Gundams are both badly damaged; they're fending off mobile suits with a blind desperation that even Lichty, no combatant himself, can see clear as day.

They are dying—dying to unite the world—and though Lichty knows this must have been Aeolia's plan all along, he can't help but wish it could go any other way.

Lockon sloppily shoots down another GN-X moments away from decimating the bridge, and as Lichty glances back to Chris, he can see her hands trembling almost beyond use as she taps away at her terminal. Lockon's in bad shape, and they all know it—beyond the eye he lost a week ago, Dynames has been nearly blown in half by the mobile armor.

None of them have expected him to keep fighting—not when, even with Haro's adjustments, his shots go wide more often than not, and there's a steady stream of strained cursing coming over his audio link to the bridge. But he has refused to give up, has been shooting down GN-Xes with his pistols (for his rifle has been blasted to pieces), and has been calling often over their shared comm links, ascertaining the safety of Setsuna and Allelujah and Lasse.

Lichty knows none of them are making it out of this battle alive, but he understands Chris' desperation to get their friend out of the direct line of fire, and so he steadies his breathing between volleys of particle beams and turns back to Chris with a strained smile.

"That was a lie, wasn't it?"

Her typing stops abruptly, and she turns to him with wide eyes. "Was it—was it that obvious?"

Her voice is high in a way Lichty hasn't heard it in months, but he chokes out a laugh. "Totally."

Chris, after all, has never been a very good liar—and Feldt is usually one of the best at picking up on it. Maybe, he figures, the stress of the battle distracted her just enough to believe her friend—or she didn't want to risk it being true.

Either way, Feldt is no longer on the bridge, and Lichty can be nothing but grateful.

"We're gonna be fine," he says, with as much bravado in his voice as he can muster—even as the Assault Container detaches from the Ptolemy, swinging around to get a better angle on the GN-Xes approaching them.

"I know," Chris says, and Lichty loves her all the more for the strength she's shoving in behind her voice. She is terrified, he knows, but she is _brave_ —and she will not desert them when there is breath yet in her body. "I won't let Feldt scold me again, I—"

Lockon's audio cuts her off, then—quick and sharp and horrified—"Lichty—"

He looks back up to the battlefield to see a GN-X speeding toward them, dodging Lockon's and Ian's shots with ease as it approaches the bridge. It's a skilled pilot, clearly, but Lockon's stream of curses is growing steadily more desperate as he continues to dodge, and Lichty knows what's going to happen even before the pilot lines up his shot.

He's destroying Celestial Being's mothership, its bridge. He's likely envisioning for himself a grand promotion, a pay raise, celebrations in his honor for taking down the brains of their operation—but the only ones left on the bridge are a petrified tech and a useless helmsman, and Lichty shoves himself up from his seat as the gun begins to charge. He knows he has to protect his friend the only way he can.

 _"Chris—!"_ His arms wrap around her trembling body and force them both down and away, and the last thing Lichty knows is the world exploding around them both.

.

.

.

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Joyce Moreno swears as the bridge is shot down—as Christina and Lichty go up in smoke moments before Lockon finally manages to incinerate the GN-X. Feldt screams, beside him, the _tap-tap-tap_ of her shaking fingers at her terminal stumbling to a halt as the four of them only stare in horror at what was once their mothership.

The carrier that, moments ago, held two of their friends…

Lockon's pained cursing is a steady white noise in the background, and Joyce knows that while he never should have let that man back into combat, it's likely the only reason he's still alive right now. If he had insisted on secluding Lockon in a regeneration pod to heal his ruined eye and his concussion and innumerous other injuries, he would be vaporized, now—because Med Bay was hit first by the mobile armor's strafing. Joyce knows he, too, is lucky to be alive at all; if he hadn't answered Ian's call to help him prep the assault container…

Lockon is alive (for now), and Joyce and Feldt and Ian and Sumeragi are alive—but Christina and Lichty are likely not, and Joyce is trying to process this even as Sumeragi tries and fails to patch a comm link through. They are unconscious, or dead, and Joyce knows the latter is far more likely—but then Orange Haro's sharp voice breaks into their horrified thoughts over Lockon's line, stopping every one of them cold—

"Two life signs! Two life signs!"

"They're _alive?_ " Ian asks harshly before running a hand down his face, gripping the throttles with white knuckles and readjusting their course toward the slowly spreading cloud of smoke and GN particles. It could blow at any moment—even Joyce knows this—but Feldt's choked sobs from beside him and Sumeragi's stiff posture and chalky face tell him they have less than no choice in the matter. If Chris and Lichty are alive, then they will recover them, if they can—and they will do whatever necessary to save their lives.

They arrive within minutes, Lockon providing sloppy, desperate covering fire against any more suits that slip past Allelujah's defense (though Tieria's half of the battlefield has gone worryingly dark). Joyce hurries to his feet, heading toward the airlock down the hall before he realizes exactly what he's getting into. He cannot ask Feldt to help recover the likely mangled bodies of her friends, and Sumeragi would equally not handle it well—and if Lichty was badly injured—

"Ian, I'll need your help," he calls back to his friend, and he hesitates only a moment before shoving the controls for the Assault Container toward Sumeragi, pushing up and following Joyce quickly down the hall. He likely assumes he simply needs an extra set of hands to carry the both of them inside, get them to whatever regen pods might help keep them alive—and Joyce knows he has no time to explain anything else to him.

They let themselves out the airlock as quickly as they are able, dodging sparking wires and sharp-edged rubble carefully as they approach the point Haro has designated for them. And—sure enough—he can see two bodies floating, suspended in open space, and he pushes his suit's thrusters to the max, desperate to get through the smoke and see them clearly.

There is blood—a _lot_ of it—and for a moment Joyce wonders whether those life signs weren't fleeting, flickering out of existence too soon after Haro was able to pick them up. But as he reaches for the nearer form—Chris, less injured than Lichty, as he turns her around to see—he can see breath fogging the inside of her helmet despite the shrapnel deeply embedded in her upper back, and he hauls her carefully into his arms, careful not to jar the injury as he turns to Ian, close behind him.

As his friend gets a good look at Lichty, though, he swears violently, his limbs jerking back—though the lack of gravity prevents him from stopping until his magnetic boots engage on the rubble. Joyce swallows, for he knows why—Lichty's right arm has been blown away for a second time and is sparking dangerously, and his metallic abdomen is laid bare. There is blood splattered against the inside of his helmet, and though he is unconscious, the boy's face is twisted in fear and pain.

He was protecting Chris, for if she had sustained those injuries in the vacuum of space, she would have died instantly—but if they do not do something for Lichty, quickly, Joyce knows he will not last long. "I'll need your help," he says, his voice tight over the comm link between their suits, blocking out Feldt and Sumeragi. "Chris will need a regen pod, but you're going to have to help put Lichty back together."

Ian swears again but disengages his boots, gathering Lichty into his arms gingerly before pushing off again, back to the Assault Container. Joyce alerts Sumeragi as soon as they're clear, and she spins them around, hurrying away from the wreckage so they are not caught in the inevitable explosion. She, Feldt, and Lockon are all demanding status updates on their friends, but Joyce only tells them tersely that they are alive, and he will do everything in his power to keep them that way.

He hurries to the cramped medical bay on the Container—meagerly populated with emergency supplies and two low-power regen cells that Joyce had to fight to include, in the original planning of the ship. He's glad he did, now, as he lays Chris carefully into one on her stomach, pulling her helmet off and cutting her suit away from the injury in her back—inserting an IV in the back of her hand and fitting an oxygen mask over her face as Ian hesitates behind him, only laying Lichty down on a cot and staring at him with wide eyes.

"I have schematics of his organs and musculature," Joyce says hastily, gesturing to the terminal on the other side of the cramped bay, and Ian hurries to grab it before returning again to Lichty. "Make sure nothing will explode—we'll have to work on stabilizing him after."

Ian swears under his breath and reaches for the remains of Lichty's arm—his shoulder had scarcely survived the initial explosion when he was a child, and so it seems the only tissue he lost there was the skin regrown and vascularized to cover the prosthetic. But it's also causing substantial blood loss, and as Joyce glances over his shoulder, he sees Ian jab a hasty blood coagulation stick into Lichty's neck.

Chris should be stable enough, should this limited pod sustain her until they reach Krung Thep in nearly thirty hours (assuming they live that long)—and Joyce pulls up the diagnostics quickly, shutting the pod and not daring to extract the shrapnel without knowing the extent of the damage. It's clearly injured her spine, and depending on how big it is, it could have damaged her heart or lungs as well—but he breathes a heavy sigh of relief as the scans come up with a healthy heart and only one punctured lung. This, he can deal with. Battlefield trauma has been his bread and butter for decades—but Lichty—

Lichty's body is a whole different beast, and Joyce has never had experience with prosthetics to this extent. Though Lichty has come to him, over the years, for routine maintenance, he has never had to build anyone from the ground up before.

Ian is busy digging in nearby drawers—"Do you have any electrical tape in here?" he calls over his shoulder, and at Joyce's worried shake of the head, he swears, digging with renewed vigor through another drawer. "These are rubber?" he asks eventually, coming up with a handful of catheters—and when Joyce nods he spins, reaching carefully for the wires sprouting from Lichty's shoulder, threading them each through a tube and securing them with Scotch tape.

Joyce does what he can for Chris—without micro- and nano-bots to extract the shrapnel safely, he does not dare do anything more than order the pod to stabilize her spine and lung and keep her alive. He turns to help Ian however he can—though he can tell that even his friend is out of his depth, staring at the unconscious boy before him with wide eyes and holding the terminal in one badly trembling hand.

"Where are we even supposed to _start_?" he asks, his voice harsh as he looks up at Joyce.

He has to force himself not to shrug—he's supposed to be the expert here, after all, even if he's no bioengineer—he's a medical doctor, through and through, and has no idea how to save the boy on the cot in front of him. "We need to check his vitals," he says after a moment, turning away for the required equipment as Ian stays rooted to the ground behind him. This is the first step in any critical case, after all, and even if Lichty is scarcely more flesh than machine, that doesn't make him less human. "His heart's still the original, and his left lung—but his right side looks badly damaged, which could mean liver damage, kidney, lung, intestine—and all of those are prosthetics."

Ian swallows, looking back to Lichty—and Joyce is sure he would only know half those organs by sight. "Just tell me what to do," he says eventually, his tone set, and Joyce nods, turning back with a twisting stomach, hoping he won't doom this young man to death.

.

.

"Doctor Moreno," Sumeragi's voice comes from his terminal across the room, and he jumps, ensuring Ian has everything well in hand before rushing over. Her face is pinched, and he thinks he can hear Feldt stifling sobs in the background, but she continues once he comes into view—"Tieria just released his GN drive—we're going to try to recover him and Nadleeh, if we can. Do you have space in med bay for another patient?"

He grimaces—honestly, it was never meant to house more than two patients at a time, but he knows that it's likely—if they're very lucky—that they will have to cram five more injured pilots in there, so he nods. "Is Lockon all right?" he asks instead, because he wouldn't be surprised if he desperately needs medical attention as well, with the state Dynames is in—and the way he's repeatedly blocked their attempts at video transmission. "Should we call him back too?"

"I've tried," she says, a worried frown on her face. "He said he's not disarming until we're sure it's safe…and Setsuna just went dark, too."

Joyce swears under his breath, only able to hope that he managed to take out the mobile armor first. If it's still alive—and they have no functional Gundams left to defend them—then they're all but done for. "Keep me updated," he says eventually, glancing back to Ian as his friend swears under his breath. "Chris is in a regen pod, and we're—we're doing what we can for Lichty, but he was hit worse than she was." He cannot say anything about his body, with Feldt within listening distance, but he can hear her sobs increase in volume. "He's alive, Feldt," he assures her, though he really cannot say much else without running the risk of lying, "and I intend to keep him that way."

"I'll let you know once we have Tieria," Sumeragi says with a sharp nod, her jaw tightening before the video cuts out—and Joyce swallows, turning back to Lichty and Ian.

.

.

Somehow, an hour later, there are seven injured (but _alive)_ crew members in med bay, in various states of consciousness, and Joyce doesn't think he's ever felt so overwhelmed. Ian is still bent over Lichty in a corner, swearing steadily under his breath as he attempts to get his most vital organs functional again, relying on the decade-old schematics beside him as a guide. Lasse now occupies the second regen pod—he came in unconscious, blood splattered against the inside of his helmet, and preliminary diagnostics indicated severe internal injuries.

Joyce had given him the second pod without thought, knowing he would never survive the journey to Krung Thep otherwise—but he only hopes the others are able to hold on until then as well.

Setsuna is unconscious with severe burns over his right side—but he is finally stable, on a cot against the wall, and Joyce has to trust he will stay that way until he's finished looking over the others. Lockon is the only one yet on his feet (if worryingly unsteady), and he's flitting between Allelujah and Tieria, who are both barely conscious. The latter is propped up against a wall for a lack of cots, clutching his abdomen and breathing shallowly with his eyes closed. Allelujah, on the other hand, has clear head trauma—and he's curled up in a corner, only staring at nothing with wide eyes, muttering things to himself that Joyce cannot make out. Lockon is trying doggedly to make his friend focus on him, with limited success; though Allelujah's eerily mismatched gaze flits to his face often, it drifts away just as quickly, his eyes wide and disturbingly empty.

Lockon himself has sharply refused medical treatment until the rest are stable (and when he got a glimpse of Lichty's body in the corner, his face had grown frighteningly white at the mess of wires and twisted metal sprouting from his friend's abdomen and shoulder). Though Joyce understands the sentiment, and realizes that his injuries truly are less critical than the others', there is not much else he can do for many of them—he has bandaged Allelujah's head, and wiped away much of the blood, but his likely concussion is untreatable until they reach Krung Thep, with its better equipped med bay. Tieria has waved away worried hands, saying he is fine, but Joyce is concerned about internal injuries, with the way he's wincing with every breath, the way his hands have been slowly tightening around his ribcage. Without another regen pod, though, there is little he can do but hope he does not take a turn for the worse.

There is nothing Lockon can do for his friends, and if he refuses treatment, Joyce knows he should not be in med bay at all—and so he pulls him aside when he gets a moment to breathe, telling him to go to the deck and check in with Feldt and Miss Sumeragi. "See how far we are from base," he says in an undertone, trying not to break the tense atmosphere as Ian works and the others focus all their energy on staying alive. "Ask if we can hurry it along any more."

Lockon stares at him, clearly knowing exactly what he's doing—but then his eye widens; he says something about _Trans Am,_ and nods sharply to Joyce, pushing out of med bay and down the hallway.

Half an hour later, Feldt calls him up on his terminal, clearly hoping to get a glimpse of her friends, though Joyce—and surely Sumeragi and Lockon—realize that she cannot be allowed to see so many of her friends in this state. "We've hooked up the GN drives to the engine," she says, her voice quiet as she stares at Joyce with wide, red eyes. "If we start using Trans Am for transport once they've recharged, we should reach Krung Thep in fourteen hours."

Joyce lets out a heavy breath—fourteen is so much better than thirty, and he allows himself to smile truly at her, relief coursing through him. "Thank you," he says, honestly, and Feldt smiles back at him, just a little bit. "Everyone should be okay until we get there."

Her smile falters a bit, then, but she nods, swallowing thickly. "You said—Chris is in a regeneration pod?" she asks, very quietly, and Joyce's stomach sinks.

"She'll be all right," he assures her, and is reasonably certain he's not lying. "We just need to keep her stable until we reach Krung Thep, where we can treat her properly. We don't have the equipment we need here."

It's the most reassuring thing he can say to her, but Feldt seems a little comforted by this, at least. "And Lichty? The others?" she asks hastily, as if worried he'll hang up on her. "Lockon said they're okay, but…"

"Lasse's in the other pod," he says. "We're doing the best we can for everyone else—like I said, they'll hang on until we get to base, especially now that you've sped it up for us."

She hesitates, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but realizes that he's not willing to say much else. "We're going back up to the deck," she says eventually, glancing to Lockon and Orange Haro, behind her. "Let us know if anything changes in their conditions."

"Of course," Joyce says immediately, and ends the call.

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.

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The first thing Lichty realizes is that he's in a great deal of pain.

The second thing he realizes is that he's lying on his back on a cot, covered only by a thin sheet; he does not feel his supportive brace around his abdomen, keeping his organs where they should be—which is alarming in and of itself. He only rarely removes it—when he needs to get checked over by a doctor, mainly, though there have been precious few other times when he's had to check something out himself. It's a harrowing experience, to be sure, and he would prefer to have the security of the brace, holding him together—but in his state, he doesn't dare move to try and find it.

He remembers Fallen Angels, suddenly, and realizes in vague astonishment that he must not be dead—but he does not know if he shielded Chris well enough from the blast, and what if—

A door opens, then, and someone rushes to his side—as Lichty looks up through rather blurring vision, he can see that it's Doctor Moreno. His trademark sunglasses are missing, and there are dark bags under his eyes—but he looks incredibly relieved to see Lichty awake, his face falling in an exhausted smile as he asks how he's feeling.

"Like I got hit by a truck," Lichty says, honestly, because his right arm has not hurt this much since he first lost it, and his entire abdomen feels like it's trying to eat itself alive—but he is not dead, and that is more than he expected in those final moments on the Ptolemy. All things considered, he's doing all right.

"We'll need to check your organs' function," Doctor Moreno says, though he yet seems heartened that Lichty is awake at all. "We were able to print them, once we got to Krung Thep, but we need to make sure the wiring's done properly, if you're feeling up to it."

Lichty knows this is important, but there are yet more important things for him to ask about—because that battle was—it was _awful,_ and he knows he and Chris were not the only ones in serious danger of dying. "Is Chris—?" he asks, terror choking his words—because he remembers her stifled scream as he threw his weight into her, hoping to shield her from the blast. He remembers, too, Tieria's signal going dark, remembers the rest of the Meisters badly injured and barely able to fight—

It is a miracle that he is alive but if the others are dead it would all be for nothing, and his artificial guts twist in on themselves as he considers that the two of them, in this room, might be the sole survivors—

"Chris is all right," Doctor Moreno says instantly, and Lichty feels such huge, overwhelming relief at this that he closes his eyes for a moment. "She's been out of her regen cell for two weeks; she's been worried sick about you—"

"She's been _in here?_ " he asks in horror, because—because he knows that Chris has no idea of the true nature of his body. He's sure she would be repelled by it, and—

"No, no one but me, Ian, and Miss Sumeragi," he reassures him, and Lichty is glad that the list of survivors is only growing longer. "You're in a private medical bay—the rest think you're in a regeneration pod, but we've been trying to put you back together."

Lichty blinks, nods, looks down at his right arm as if seeing it for the first time. He realized, in some corner of his mind, that it did not carry the skin that made him look almost human, but he didn't realize exactly what that meant.

They had to build it new, then, because the metal is so much sleeker, shinier than it has any right to be after living for almost nine years under a lab-grown skin. "What happened to me?" he asks eventually, because while his left leg seems to have survived, his right is missing altogether—and the good majority of his abdomen feels like he's being fitted for new organs all over again. (Which, he realizes with sudden nausea, he may very well be.)

"That you threw your right side toward the explosion is the only reason you survived," Doctor Moreno says, bluntly, and Lichty blinks, because he supposes that must have been some sort of reflex—but honestly, he does not remember. "Your arm was gone—half of your abdomen was nonfunctional. We were barely able to keep you alive until we got here and had access to proper facilities. And your leg is printing now—it was easier to start new than try and fix the mess the blast left."

Lichty blinks, nods, but does not regret it—because if Chris has been out of a regeneration pod for two weeks, then her injuries must have been much less severe than his. He did what he intended to do—protected her, at any cost. "Ian and I were able to figure everything out with the staff's help," he continues, and Lichty nods again, vaguely, looking down at his sleek new arm. "But we need to make sure everything is functioning properly before we let you walk out of here."

"What about—?" Lichty waves his right arm vaguely, hoping Doctor Moreno understands—he does not want to leave with his arm so exposed, and though a quick glance down to his left leg shows that the skin is still intact (if badly scarred on the right side), a metallic right arm or leg would be a warning sign to anyone with half a brain.

Doctor Moreno frowns for a moment. "I could give you a sleeve for the moment," he says. "It wouldn't provide blood flow, so it wouldn't be warm—and it probably wouldn't feel like real skin if anyone tried to grab it. But it would pass as flesh from a distance until we're able to grow you some real skin, if that's what you want."

"Yeah," Lichty says instantly—he'll just have to make sure no one touches his arm. But, after all, half the crew seems to be allergic to human contact, and the other half—spearheaded by Chris—has never shown much of an interest in touching him at all. He should be able to pull this off.

"Is—what about everyone else?" he asks eventually, because if Ian and Doctor Moreno and Miss Sumeragi are yet alive then Feldt must be as well, which is some small comfort, at least. She is young—too young, Lichty has always thought, to throw herself so wholeheartedly into their mission—and she did not deserve to die in that damned battle. But the other five—the pilots…he is half sure, already, that Tieria is dead, and if Setsuna and Lasse continued to have no luck against the mobile armor—

"Everyone's all right," Doctor Moreno says, great relief in his voice, and Lichty only stares at him, scarcely believing it. "Lasse needed the other pod on the Assault Container, but the others managed to hold on until we got here—they're all healed now, too. You're the last, and I'm sure everyone will be glad to see you."

He snorts, after a moment, and Lichty frowns, wondering what that's about. "What's so funny?" he asks when Doctor Moreno doesn't seem willing to explain, and he only laughs again, shaking his head.

"Chris has been trying to break in here since she woke up—we've had to set up Red Haro to keep her out," he nods to the desk in the corner, where Haro is sitting, hooked up to the onboard systems; he flaps his ears and beeps happily at the recognition. "From the way he tells it, it's become something of a full-time job."

Lichty only blinks at him; surely, Chris wouldn't be so eager to see him? When has she ever sought him out, in the past? "Why?" he asks eventually, rather dumbfounded, and the humor slips off Doctor Moreno's face as he stares down at him.

"You saved her life, Lichty," he says, very seriously. "If you hadn't shielded her from the blast, she would have died—and with the little information we've given her, she wants to see for herself that you're all right."

He supposes that makes sense, to some extent, but Chris has never returned even an ounce of his affection; she has kept their relationship strictly professional—toeing the line even with good friendship—and though Lichty has tried not to be hurt by it, he has also done his best to respect those boundaries. But now, her trying to break every sort of protocol to see him in his recovery room—?

It's strange, for sure, but he figures he'll be able to see her soon enough, once his leg is finished and attached—so he puts it out of his mind for the moment, agreeing to let Doctor Moreno check over his new organs to make sure nothing will kill him once he's more mobile.

(It nags at the back of his mind, though, that she has had such a change of heart—and he can only hope that it is for the better.)

.

.

Almost a week later, he has been fitted for his new leg, and though he's still in a great deal of pain (and will need a bit more time to get used to his new limbs), he should be able to walk well enough, and is eager to get out of his cramped room.

Red Haro has been his only constant companion; though Doctor Moreno is in with him often, Ian has also been a regular to check up on the mechanics of his body (and that had been an uncomfortable moment, when Lichty realized that Ian knew about him—though the grumpy old engineer had taken everything in stride) along with several unfamiliar bioengineers from Krung Thep. It reminds Lichty a little too much of his time in the hospital as a kid, being shuffled around by doctors and nurses and charity organizations after he lost almost everything, and he is more than happy to take Doctor Moreno up on the offer of leaving his room to catch everyone else for dinner.

The elastomer covers on his right arm and leg look real enough, they have decided, if rather slick if viewed up close—the hand has fingernails and wrinkles built in to look more realistic, it matches his skin tone, and Lichty is confident that as long as no one looks too closely, they shouldn't be able to tell the difference.

He still can't wait for the skin grafts to come through in a week, though—even if the initial attachment is uncomfortable at best, it'll make his limbs that much more real to everyone else.

Doctor Moreno has supplied him another brace, for his last was torn half to shreds in the blast; once he's strapped in from neck to knees, he sits up gingerly, expecting the sharp pain in his hip from the extra weight but still wincing. He waves off the doctor's worry, though, leaning forward carefully and putting his left foot on the ground first, bracing himself against the cot before gingerly putting down his right.

The pain here, too, is to be expected, but he doesn't teeter over the moment he releases the cot behind him—and he'll count that as a success. "I'm fine," he says as Doctor Moreno hovers, and he tries to keep the irritation out of his voice. He knows this man has just spent the better part of a month and a half putting him back together, but he knows what he's doing and he knows his limits—and he doesn't feel any worse than when he first re-learned to walk. "Where's the mess hall?"

Doctor Moreno insists on following him, but Lichty refuses any assistance. The low gravity helps him, prevents too much weight being put on his new hip, knee, ankle—and he's able to hobble his way most of the way there without much problem at all…even if he's quite winded by the time they arrive.

The doctor rushes to open the door for him, and Lichty rolls his eyes before carefully swinging himself around to the doorway with his right arm, following behind as the two of them enter the mess hall.

Ian cheerfully hails his friend as he comes in, as do many other voices Lichty can't recognize right off—he supposes the population of Krung Thep has always been several times that of the Ptolemy, but he hopes he'll be able to find his friends without much fuss. He doesn't want to be displayed yet again as a marvel of modern medicine; he doesn't want to meet dozens of strangers who mean well but are far too overbearing. All he wants is to see his friends, and eat dinner, and maybe figure out what has caused Chris' sudden change of heart.

As Joyce moves away from him, Lichty gets a better view of the mess hall—he can see Lockon, taller than many, sitting a few tables over, and so he figures the others must be sitting nearby as well—so he pushes off that way with his left foot, tries to bite down on the pain as he approaches the table.

Tieria is there, too, opposite Lockon—and he sees Lichty first, floating toward them purposefully. His eyebrows rise a fraction, but his face relaxes into what Lichty might almost mistake for a smile, nodding slightly to him before returning to his dinner. Lockon turns when his friend's attention is diverted, and his face breaks out into a true grin—his eye, indeed, has been regrown (though there are yet burn and shrapnel scars running from his right brow to his jaw), and he reaches out to catch Lichty as he arrives at the table.

"Look who's returned from the dead!" he announces to the rest—which, as Lichty glances around, seems to be the good majority of the Ptolemy's crew. Chris is missing, and Doctor Moreno and Ian are a few tables down, but everyone else looks up with varying degrees of relief on their faces. Feldt stands up sharply when she sees, next to Lockon, and reaches to engulf Lichty in a tight, trembling hug that he returns readily as he grins at the rest of them.

"Glad to see you're all right," Lasse says, a wide smile on his newly scarred face—and even Setsuna nods, glancing up from his potatoes.

"Just glad to be out of med bay," he says, hopes it's flippant enough, and takes the seat offered to him as they all shift to make room. "Did I miss anything exciting?"

"Not really," Lockon says, that relieved smile still on his face. "But, uh, you might want to track down Chris, later. She's convinced you're dead—none of us can tell her otherwise."

Miss Sumeragi stands quickly and soon returns with a tray full of food for him, and Lichty smiles to her gratefully as he digs in. Doctor Moreno and the others have brought him food regularly, of course, but he's always been a social person—and eating with his friends is far better than eating alone.

Dinner is a loud and rowdy affair, even with Setsuna and Tieria nearby; everyone seems glad to see him, relieved that he really is all right (because he can't imagine many of them were conscious to see him before he was hidden away). But he steps toward Feldt after dinner is over, after Lockon slaps him on his new shoulder in a way that makes him wince and asks whether he wants to join them in drinking, tonight.

"I should go find Chris," he tells him, because he's never been much of a drinker himself—and, after all, it's very true. Lockon's grin grows a bit lecherous, at that, and he winks at him before shoving off down the hall.

He's not really sure what his friend meant by that, but decides to put it out of his mind for a moment—only catching Feldt by the arm, asking her if she knows where Chris might be. "Probably in her room," Feldt says quietly. "She doesn't always come to meals, even though the doctors tell her she needs to build her strength again—she's been worried about you."

"I promise you I'm fine," he says earnestly, because Feldt, too, looks very concerned for his well being. "They patched me up good as new—I'd just like to tell her that too, yeah?"

She stares at him for a moment longer before nodding, gesturing for him to follow her as she heads down the same hall Lockon followed.

Lichty has vague recollections of Krung Thep's layout, but it's been several years since he's been here in person—and he's glad for the guide as Feldt floats ahead of him silently, her pigtails waving in the low gravity. It's only a couple of minutes before she stops before one of the residential doors, glancing to make sure he's still behind her before knocking.

"Chris?"

Lichty can hear some shuffling on the other side of the door before it slides open a bit; he can't see Chris, from his angle, but she says quietly, "Thanks for coming by, Feldt, but I'm not hungry—I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Chris—"

He can't help himself, and is sure Feldt was going to introduce him anyway—he can hear Chris gasp as he steps forward carefully, into Chris' line of sight. Her eyes are wide and red-streaked, but she is _alive,_ and Lichty has to hold himself back from pulling her into his arms in crushing relief.

But then Feldt has stepped aside, and Chris has launched herself forward—throwing herself at Lichty head-first with a gasping sob, and then they're flying across the hallway.

Lichty hits the opposite wall with an _oof_ that throws the breath from his lungs, sets his shoulder and hip and everything in between on fire yet again, but Chris' arms are wrapped around him and she is crying and—

And then there are lips pressed against his own and Lichty freezes because—because—

Chris is kissing him— _Chris is kissing him_ —and he is not quite able to process this quickly enough before she pulls away, instead burying her face into his neck with another sob.

"Um," he says, eloquently, looking for help from Feldt, but the younger girl has already disappeared down the hallway. "Chris?"

"I thought you were dead," she says, her voice choked and very small as her grip on him only grows tighter. "Nobody would let me see you, and—and you _protected_ me, you _idiot—"_

She has called him an idiot many times, after all (and Lichty will readily admit that she is far more intelligent than he is), but this is different, now—and he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that _she just kissed him_ when she pulls back, suddenly, taking him by the hand and yanking him toward her room. "What—?" he starts rather lost, still pumped full of drugs and still recovering and still a little slow on the uptake—hoping sincerely that she just doesn't want to talk in the hallway.

" _Thank you_ ," Chris says as the door closes, such emotion in her voice that Lichty can only blink at her. "Doctor Moreno—he said if you didn't protect me I'd be dead, and—and—"

"Hey," Lichty says, rather alarmed and trying to soothe the tears falling quickly down her face. "I'm fine, right? Good as new, no harm done."

She chokes, then, and yanks him again into a crushing hug that Lichty hesitantly returns. "I've been an idiot," she says, barely understandable as she talks into his chest. "There's been this amazing guy in front of me all this time, and I've been— _blind,_ I've been—"

Lichty's new insides twist in on themselves, because he should have realized what she meant with the kiss, but this can't— _she_ can't—"I'm okay," he decides on, hesitating before putting his left hand on the back of her head, and something inside him twists further when she does not shake it away.

"You almost _died_ for me when I wouldn't even give you a chance!" Chris says, her voice rising rather hysterically, and Lichty realizes that there's not much he can say to that. " _I'm sorry,_ I've been so awful, you probably don't even want to—"

She chokes off, bowing her head further into his chest, and Lichty tries to decipher what exactly she means through the haze of pain and medication. "You mean—" he starts, uncertainly, squinting down at her head for a moment, not wanting to assume.

Chris looks up at him, then, tears floating away from her face, and yanks his lips again to hers in response.

.

.

Lichty goes to Doctor Moreno in something of a panic, the next morning.

Nothing _happened_ last night, in Chris' room, but he realizes that the two of them would probably be considered a couple, now. It's something out of his wildest dreams—something amazing and so far removed from his accepted reality that he's still trying to wrap his head around it—but lying awake in his own room, last night, he had realized something that might put a stop to their relationship before it really even starts.

"Are you all right?" Doctor Moreno asks, rather alarmed as Lichty bursts into Med Bay, out of breath and trembling. "Is something—"

"I'm fine," he assures him, because he _really_ doesn't want to get poked over by a bunch of doctors again. "I just—need some advice."

The doctor's eyebrows rise a bit, but he nods toward the chair opposite his small desk. "About what?" he asks after a moment, when Lichty doesn't offer anything more.

He swallows, blinks a few times, tries to figure out how best to say this. It's not something he's allowed himself to think about too much, before now—he's still perfectly _functional,_ after all, but the doctors of his childhood hadn't seen a need to replace—"I, um," he says, inelegantly, and swallows again before continuing, "Chris kissed me last night."

Doctor Moreno stares at him for a moment before his face splits into a little smile. "If you want relationship advice, I think Ian is the only one qualified to give it," he warns. "And Linda and Mileina would say it's sketchy at best."

"No, I—" He licks his lips, swallows again, clenches his fists on his thighs to try and stop their trembling. "Um, I realized, last night. That we can't—do much more than that."

He stares at Lichty for a moment longer before understanding dawns. "Because of your body, I'm afraid there's not much we could do," he says after a moment, grimacing a bit. "There are reconstructive surgeries, but I doubt you'd see any success, with nothing left of the original anatomy to work with."

Lichty lets out a shaky breath—he had assumed as much, and realizes that mechanical systems could never reproduce the real thing—but hearing it from the doctor's mouth quashes any sort of hope he might have had. "She'll never be okay with this," he says very quietly, bowing his head a bit, trying not to tremble more. "Chris, she—"

"You know Chris better than I do, but even I know she's not that shallow," Doctor Moreno says, rather sharply, and Lichty looks up at him, a little surprised. "You two have been friends for years, and you _saved her life_ in Fallen Angels—if she rejects you for this, I will apologize to you personally."

Lichty searches his face and finds no trace of a lie, but still, he—he cannot provide Chris with what she surely wants. He can never have children; he can't even have—

"Talk to her," Doctor Moreno urges, when Lichty doesn't reply. "It's not something you can avoid forever—and the longer you wait, the harder it will be to explain."

He swallows—he's right, he knows, but Chris— _Chris—_

He has never allowed himself to think this far ahead because he has never thought Chris—or _anyone_ —would be interested in him. But the way she was looking at him last night was something he's never seen before. Somehow, impossibly, she is returning his feelings…and forcing him to realize that his imagined fairy tale is so horribly far from reality.

Doctor Moreno is right—he knows it—but he's terrified that Chris will be repulsed by his body, will reject him on the spot. He knows (he hopes) that Chris would not be so cruel as to do that…but most days, he's half sure he's barely human himself, and he can't imagine someone considering spending the rest of their life with him, knowing his body is so mangled.

He thanks Doctor Moreno, lets himself out, and locks himself in his room to think. He knows Chris will worry when he doesn't come out—everyone else probably will, too, but it's early yet. With the way Lockon and the others were talking about their plans for last night, he doubts any of them will be up long before noon.

He knows he needs to tell her, but what he experienced last night—even just that conversation, those fleeting kisses, her smaller hand in his own—was far too wonderful to just throw away. He is a coward, and he cares too damn much, and so he will hold on for as long as he can.

.

.

Eight months on, Lichty is still a coward, but he thinks Chris may be the most patient person on the planet.

She has made no secret of the fact that she is willing to do _more;_ she's finagled them plenty of alone time on the crowded, cramped base (in bedrooms, more often than not), and even some of the crew have given them plenty of excuses to get away. When they made their relationship public a week or so after Chris first kissed him, Lasse had clapped him on the shoulder with a broad smile, and even Allelujah had sincerely congratulated them both; everyone seems genuinely happy for the two of them. Lichty really does appreciate it, but after the third time Ian winks almost lecherously at him as he tells Chris that Feldt should be able to handle the calibrations for the afternoon, he feels his nerves stretched to their limits.

Chris seems more than willing to introduce a more physical aspect to their relationship, and the thought of her bare skin beneath his hands sends shivers down his manufactured spine—but he knows that such things lead both ways, and he is still not ready for her to see his body.

She's confused, and a little hurt, he thinks—and it hurts him, too, that she cannot understand. He can't expect her to, of course, when he has not explained, but it's so _hard,_ when he's half sure this wonderful dream will shatter apart the moment she learns the truth.

He's more than happy to kiss her (in fact, he still gets thrills every time she leans up to give him a quick peck before going off to work) and hold her hand, for the skin and subcutaneous tissue on his right hand has long been implanted to simulate a true limb. He holds her hand at every opportunity, and even allows his grip on her waist to slide steadily lower at her behest—but every time she attempts to do the same, he forces himself to extract his body from her grip. After all, his abdomen is not so well cushioned—and if she paid too much attention…

She does not understand, though she has asked several times why he will not let her touch him—and he always dodges her questions, unsure of how to answer them. He knows he's running out of time every moment where Chris' hand trembles across his shoulder blades, as she tries to respect his wishes and keep her touch high—every time her face flashes in hurt and maybe a little resentment as he refuses to answer her questions.

"Is there something wrong with me?" she asks him, eventually, and Lichty is so desperate to reassure her that he thinks she might believe him, at least for now. But his time is running out—and when Sumeragi says she's giving the two of them Earth leave with Lockon and Tieria, he realizes it may already be gone.

.

.

He spends the flight down to the surface in relative silence; he holds Chris' hand in his own as she talks animatedly with Lockon, asking what there is to do in Ireland this time of year—wondering whether there's anything fun the four of them could do together.

Tieria scoffs at the idea of _fun_ when this trip is largely to allow them to stay sane and healthy after long bouts in space, but Lichty does not mind it. Lockon, clearly, grew up in the country, and so should know the best things to do, especially if they're staying near his hometown.

"The pubs are a given," Lockon is saying, sending a little grin toward his fellow Meister as Tieria's frown only deepens. "Plenty of alcohol to go around, if you're interested—"

Chris grins a bit, squeezing Lichty's hand. He knows she enjoys drinks on occasion (though, luckily, nowhere near as much as Miss Sumeragi), but he usually tries to avoid putting unnecessary strain on his liver. "Could be fun!" she says cheerily. "And I've heard there's all sorts of sightseeing, too, old castles from centuries ago—I bet even _you'd_ like to visit those, Tieria!"

She has a point, and he doesn't seem to be able to deny it; but he only huffs, turning pointedly away from the conversation. "What would you like to do, Lichty?" she asks earnestly, turning to him.

He blinks—he hasn't really thought about it, to be honest. He's been relieved they're going to the surface, of course, but he's been trying to figure out what to do when Lockon, inevitably, sends him an encouraging grin and drags Tieria out of the safehouse.

"Whatever you guys want," he says with a grin and a shrug. "All of that sounds like fun to me."

She smiles back to him—bright, so bright, and Lichty finds himself momentarily stunned by it—and Lockon stares between the two of them before rolling his eyes good-naturedly, grabbing Tieria by the arm and saying they're gonna go get drinks, down the hall.

Lichty rolls his eyes right back but doesn't protest—and soon, the two of them are alone in the cabin. Chris takes the opportunity to lean over for a kiss, one that Lichty returns eagerly; her hands ghost over his shoulders and neck as she eventually leans away, smiling at him—though he's distressed to see that it's a bit muted. "I'm sure he's going to give us plenty of time alone on the surface, too," she says, and is clearly doing her best not to sound eager. "Two weeks is a long time, yeah?"

"Yeah," he agrees, trying to keep the grimace off his face. "I…I'm sorry, Chris, it's not that I don't _want_ to, but…"

Her brows furrow a bit, at that, and she stares up into his eyes, clearly trying to glean the truth from him. "I can't understand unless you tell me," she says, without anger or judgment, but Lichty hears the hurt anyway. "If there's something wrong, I want to help."

"I know," he says, honestly, and hopes she understands, at least, that this is the most difficult thing he's ever going to have to do. "I—I just need to figure some things out, is all. I'll try to—I'll explain everything later."

"When is later?" she presses—after all, he has told her this many times before. He knows it—knows he's been putting it off—and so swallows his pride and as much of his fear as he can before he says—

"Before we go back up to space."

Something in her face relaxes, then, and her eyes crinkle in a smile as she leans forward, her hand wandering up into his hair as she kisses him again. "If it counts for anything, I promise I'll listen," she says, her breath warm against his lips, close as they are. "And I promise I won't freak out. I just want to help, right?"

He swallows and nods, trying to keep the terror from rising further in his throat, and leans forward, hoping his kiss manages to convey the words he's unable to voice aloud.

.

.

True to their predictions, less than a week later, Lockon makes up an excuse that has Tieria raising one purple eyebrow in doubt; but soon enough, the Meisters have left the safehouse and promise not to be back for several hours—Lockon even swears he'll shoot them a text before walking in the door.

It's obvious what he's thinking, and Lichty does appreciate the thought, but the way Chris' face lights up at an afternoon to themselves twists his stomach in knots.

It'll be today, then. He has no reason to put it off further but for his own cowardice, and Chris deserves better, after all.

They're in the living room half an hour after Lockon dragged Tieria out to their car; Chris is fiddling with her terminal, leaning up against Lichty's shoulder on the couch (for he had balked when she had first tried to lean into his lap). Lichty is trying desperately to keep his hands from shaking, and she's clearly trying not to be pushy, but it's obvious what she hopes will happen this afternoon—and he is tired of disappointing her.

"Lichty," she says eventually, leaning upright and turning on the couch, folding her legs beneath her and tucking her phone away. She grabs his hand, then, and only now does Lichty realize it's shaking violently. "What's going on?"

There is clear worry on her face, and Lichty tries to calm himself with the fact that she is still, _still,_ not upset with him. But she does not know the truth and so cannot understand its consequences, and—and—

"I'm…trying to figure out how to tell you something," he says eventually, glancing to her concerned face before looking down again, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry I've been so—awful, this whole time, but—"

"Whatever this is, it's important to you," she says emphatically, leaning forward a bit. "But if you're worried about me reacting badly, or—or being upset, I promise I won't—I just want to know what's wrong. You've been so withdrawn, lately, and—and if I'm doing something wrong—"

"You're not!" he says instantly, his grip on her hand tightening on instinct, because she has not done a single thing wrong. It's been him, stubborn and stupid and _frightened_ of losing this tentative suggestion of the happiest life he could imagine. "I'm scared," he says eventually, and she squeezes his hand encouragingly. "It could—I mean, you might not want to…be with me, after I tell you."

"Lichty," she says, her tone hardening, and she twists around to try and catch his gaze. "We went over this, months ago—I was an idiot, back then. You're _wonderful,_ and I can't think of a single thing that would make me want to end things between us."

Lichty works his jaw, squeezes her smaller hand again in his own, and makes a decision…despite his twisting, horrified insides. "I need to show you something," he says, levering himself up from the couch and waiting patiently for Chris to untangle her legs to follow him. "In the bedroom, I—it'll be easier to show you."

"All right," she says, her tone cautious but incredibly curious all the same. Lichty swallows his terror, knows there's no going back from this now. He knows—he _hopes_ —that she will not be repulsed by his body, just as Doctor Moreno and the others were not. But she is so curious, so vivacious, so _whole_ and _wonderful_ and _perfect_ that he cannot imagine a world where she stayed with him despite his inhuman features, his imperfect, _incomplete_ body…

He blinks several times in rapid succession as he reaches his own bedroom door, feels Chris squeeze his hand encouragingly, and leads her into the room.

It's spacious—this house, of course, is one of their last vestiges of luxury in the aftermath of Wang Liu Mei's disappearance. But he goes quickly to draw the blinds and then the curtains across them; he sees Chris flick on the lights, by the door, clearly more than a little nonplussed as he hesitates before dropping onto the bed, fiddling with his jacket zipper.

"I…" He trails off, swallows against a dry throat. "I don't know how to explain this, Chris, I'm sorry…"

"It's all right," she says immediately, her voice soothing as she crosses the room quickly to sit beside him—she puts her arm around his shoulders, clearly doing her best to provide support. "Just…do what you need to do. I promise I won't freak out, whatever it is, all right?"

He swallows again, bites the inside of his cheek—feels the vestiges of his insides swooping in abject terror at what he's about to do. "All right, um—" He yanks the zipper on his jacket down before he can change his mind, and Chris' face lights up—after all, he's never so much as _thought_ about undressing in her presence. He knows that she's trying to be patient (and, in his opinion, has done an admirable job of it), but he also knows that he may be stretching the limits of believability on what a human male "should" want.

The thought of Chris undressing before him sends a phantom shiver down his metallic spine, but he's never entertained more than a fantasy, because—

But he's halfway there already—he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, and it's only when Chris grabs his hands again does he realize that they're trembling almost beyond use. "If you—you don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Chris says, with such conviction that Lichty almost takes her up on it then and there. "I know I've been—awful, and probably too pushy, and if you don't want to— _do_ anything, we don't have to, all right? I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise, but…"

She is obviously sincere in her words, though Lichty thinks he reads a reluctance in her tone that says she still thinks she's done something wrong to make him not want to—"It's not about that," he says instantly, though at the root it really is—and Chris gives him a _look_ that says she doesn't buy it for a second. "It's—well, it's…"

He trails off, entirely unsure of how to explain this to her, but Chris only squeezes his hands. "As long as you're absolutely sure," she says, her green eyes bright and earnest as she looks closely at him. "I can wait as long as you want—don't you _ever_ think otherwise, Lichty."

He nods jerkily, looking down and away, and pulls one hand away to fiddle with the bottom hem of his turtleneck. "I—um," he says haltingly, and Chris squeezes his second hand again before letting it go, letting him grab the material with both hands. "Once this is off, I'll need your help. If you're okay with that."

"Of course," she says instantly, but her brows are furrowed in concern and confusion. She clearly bites back on more words—questions, probably, and Lichty is grateful as he carefully peels the turtleneck over his head.

Chris is staring at him in confusion when he emerges from the thick material; he knows she's not sure what the big deal is, because the black material he yet wears looks more like a skin-tight undershirt than anything else. Though it's mid-summer, and the crew has often commented on his thick clothing even in this warmth, Chris has obviously accepted his clothing choices as modesty without question. And an undershirt, after all, is not so strange for a man to wear.

"This…isn't just an undershirt," he says, very quietly, trying to fold the turtleneck with trembling hands before eventually giving up, throwing it against the opposite wall. "It, um…"

He doesn't like removing it—it feels like being skinned, with all of his internal organs laid bare to anyone who cares to look. All of his internal organs, made of titanium and stainless steel and varying types of polymer—he lost track of the materials long ago, and only knows, anymore, that they make him look more like something out of science fiction than real life.

"Lichty?" Chris asks after several seconds of silence, reaching tentatively for his hand—and he grasps it tightly, trying to still his trembling as he can't bring himself to look at her.

"I'll—um, I'll lie down on my stomach," he starts, and sees her nod slowly in his peripheral vision. "There are some straps on the back, you'll have to undo those. I can't reach them."

Her face is growing alarmed, now, clearly wondering what's going on. But Lichty swallows, trying to contain his terror as he turns away, laying his head on a pillow and stretching his feet toward the end of the bed. And Chris, to her credit, moves to his side, sure, slender hands working the first buckle at the base of his neck open easily, pulling apart the thick, stiff material of his brace—of his _skin_. Her fingertips ghost for scarce seconds over his exposed, true skin before she drags them down to the next, and Lichty's skin tingles for long seconds after.

There are four buckles before she will reach anything metallic, he knows. The doctors say he was very lucky, that his heart and left lung were not damaged as well—then he almost certainly would have been beyond saving. But this also means his ribcage is mostly intact but for the skin graft scars, and Chris hesitates at these, clearly wondering if these are the problem—but Lichty motions for her to keep going, and so she does – though not before running soft fingers over the scarred skin, more deliberately than before.

He counts the buckles and so knows when she reaches the fifth—at the start of his once-lumbar spine, lost along with the lowest few of his ribs and the better part of his lower abdomen in the blast. He waits with bated breath as she starts on the fifth buckle—and as she pulls the material wide, down to the next near his once-navel, he hears a sharp intake of breath, feels every inch of her movement pause.

He takes a shaky breath in, and closes his eyes.

"Lichty?" Chris' voice is wavering, horrified, demanding answers—and her fingertips ghost again over the last vestiges of his human skin, stopping just short of the metal that it gives way to, centimeters away.

"I don't know whether it makes me half dead or half alive," he says, very quietly, and grasps at the pillow a little tighter. "I'm sorry I never told you, but…"

"Lichty—"

Her weight on the bed disappears, suddenly, and Lichty twists in equal parts alarm and resignation; he shouldn't sit up, with this much of the brace loosened, but he probably won't suffer organ failure if he does—and if Chris—

But then she's kneeling beside the bed, by his head, tears filling her eyes as she reaches for his hair. "Lichty," she says again, and her voice is choked; his face falls as he looks at her, so upset— _for him,_ he realizes with a start, and isn't quite sure how to process this. "What did you lose?"

"My abdomen's all metal," he says, more quiet still, and struggles to meet her horrified gaze as he forces himself to continue. "Most of my right arm, both my legs. And…" He swallows, because this is what he's sure will drive Chris away – toward a man who can make her truly happy. "And all the parts in between them."

She stares at him a moment longer, processing what he's said, and Lichty cannot force himself to keep her gaze. But then Chris pulls herself forward, yanking his face toward her own and crushing her lips to his.

He's so shocked by the response that he freezes for a moment, before reaching up to tangle his fingers in her loose hair, kissing her back though he's not quite sure what's just happened. But she pulls away after a moment, and Lichty is horrified to see the tears spilling over her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she says, with such emotion behind her voice that Lichty is shocked into momentary silence. "You've been dealing with this alone – and I've been _such an idiot_ —"

"It happened years ago," he says instantly, because while being rebuilt six months ago was incredibly painful, it's been healed for a while, now. His body only rarely pains him, so long after the initial and corrective surgeries; it's just the mental scarring that remains—because, after all, his body is barely more human than machine, and some days, he truly wonders which side of the line he falls on. But he has to reassure her, slow the tears – and so he reaches up with a trembling hand to wipe at the wetness still falling down her cheeks. "I'm used to it, by now—I've just never known how to tell anyone."

But she blinks at him, confusion flooding her face, and Lichty frowns a bit as she reaches again for his hand. "It…it didn't happen during Fallen Angels?" she asks, very hesitantly, her eyes desperate as she stares at him.

And suddenly, he understands her abject horror—she thinks he lost half his body saving her on the Ptolemy, and he realizes that with the scant information they gave out about his status, it's not an unreasonable assumption. But he is quick to reassure her—"I told you what happened to my parents," he says, and though it isn't a question, Chris nods hesitantly, anyway. "I got caught up in it, too—Dr. Moreno says it's the only reason I survived Fallen Angels at all. I've been like this since I was twelve, way before I joined Celestial Being."

Somehow, it's easier to talk about this aspect of his existence, now that the nature of his body is out in the open; she does not seem repulsed, yet, still has one hand in his hair and the other grasping his left hand tightly. "But…" Chris hesitates, and Lichty's stomach drops as he wonders whether he got his hopes up too soon. But she does not continue, swallows thickly, and he braces himself for the worst as the silence only stretches longer.

"All this time, I've been trying to figure out what I've been doing wrong," she says eventually, shame all over her voice. "I wasn't even thinking that…" she trails off, swallowing again, and bows her head into Lichty's arm.

"You had no way of knowing," he says immediately, stroking her hand, trying to calm her down. After all, if anything, it's _his_ fault for making her think she had done wrong—even when she's—"You're the most beautiful woman on the planet," he says, honestly, and Chris scoffs into his elbow. "You know how long I've wanted to be with you…but I never really thought you'd feel the same way. I never really thought this far ahead until you kissed me, back on Krung Thep."

She hesitates again, and Lichty twists carefully, reaching with his other hand to thread careful fingers through her hair. "So you can't…" she trails off, quietly, and Lichty swallows as he prepares himself to answer—but she continues, "And—and that's why you didn't want me to touch you?"

"Yeah," he says, just as quietly, and prepares himself for the worst as he forces himself to continue, "I—understand if you'd rather have someone who can—make you happy, and—"

Her head whips up so quickly, though, that Lichty cuts himself off—and her eyes are wide in horror, tears still leaking from their corners. "I would never—" she stumbles, speaking so quickly that her mind can't keep up, but her grip on Lichty's hand tightens considerably. "You idiot, I'm not going to—I'm not going to _leave you_ over _this_ —"

"I can't have sex," he says, with finality, getting it out in the open—as if there was any doubt. "I know you've wanted to, and I _can't_ —and if you stay with me—"

"Lichty," she says, loudly, cuts him off, and he blinks at her, unsure of what she wants. "You're right, I've been—I'm attracted to you, of course I am, but it isn't your fault! It's not like—"

She chokes off, shaking her head sharply, and swallows thickly as she leans again into the crook of his elbow. "It doesn't matter," she says eventually, and Lichty would think she's lying but for the conviction and steel behind her voice. "You— _I love you,_ you idiot, okay? And this doesn't change that a bit."

Lichty finds himself speechless—though he's been thinking it, too, in his most hopeful moments, he hasn't dared to say such words when he was keeping such a huge secret from her. But to hear her say the same, even after—after she knows the truth—

"I love you too," he chokes after a moment, his grip tightening on her head and her hand, and she sobs, only pressing more tightly into his arms.

Somehow, Chris winds up on the bed, curled around him tightly; it's only when he indicates quietly that she needs to strap him back into his brace that she moves, slowly, her hand lingering in his before he rolls back onto his stomach, giving her access to the brace that holds him together.

She runs trembling fingers along his scarred skin, leaning over him and hesitating for only a moment before pressing soft lips to the base of his neck. He jerks in surprise, and she pulls away quickly, but he doesn't—he doesn't _dislike it_ , and after a moment she continues, kissing down his spine right to the edge of his skin. She pulls the straps tight across his back, then, securing the brace in place, and hesitates before standing up to retrieve his turtleneck, from across the room.

Lichty can see on her face that she's reluctant for him to hide away again, but he appreciates the extra layer of coverage, even though they are the only two here—and he sits up briefly, pulling it over his head before lying back down on his back.

Chris crawls into bed beside him, resting her head atop his chest and wrapping tentative arms around his waist. She's clearly wary, unsure of whether he's comfortable with it, but she is not—she is not repulsed by his body, and Lichty does not think he's ever been so happy in all his life.

He wraps one arm across her shoulders in return, tangles the fingers of the other in her hair, and is asleep not long after.

.

.

.

.

Lockon has sent both their phones half a dozen texts in the last half an hour; he's even knocked loudly before finally allowing Tieria to unlock the front door. His friend is frowning deeply at him, clearly seeing this all as unnecessary—he had told Lockon in no uncertain terms that if Christina and Lichty wanted to have _sexual relations_ (and Lockon had choked on air, then, because he never thought he'd hear Tieria Erde utter that phrase in his life), then they had better realize that sharing the house with two other people presented certain hazards that they would have to learn to avoid.

Lockon is doing his best, because he knows exactly how modest Lichty can be (and after the brief glimpse of metallic parts he saw, back on the Assault Container, he realizes he can't blame him), and figures that if they're _doing_ anything, at least, they've probably got the bedroom door closed.

They finally unlock the door, and Lockon walks in first, announcing loudly that they're back. But neither of them are in the living room, or in the kitchen, when he pokes his head in to check—and he sends a conspiratorial grin to Tieria (who frowns in impatience) as he heads toward their bedrooms, preparing to drop off the things he bought.

Chris' bedroom door is closed, and he scoffs at it as he walks past. But then—he realizes—Lichty's door is wide open, and the lights are on, and he hurriedly drops off his bags before backtracking to his room, intent, at least, at flipping the light switch.

But he does a double-take as he realizes that the room is not uninhabited; he immediately averts his eyes from the two figures on the bed, ready to back out of the room with a wink and an encouraging nod and ready to endure Lichty's mortification for the rest of their lives…but then, he realizes that neither of them have moved.

They're fully clothed, too, as Lockon looks back up to check—and at least one of them is snoring softly. They're wrapped together, arms and legs tangled in an effort to be closer, and Chris' face is pressed close to Lichty's chest.

It's the most adorable thing Lockon has seen in a long time, and he grins again, pulling out his phone and quietly snapping a few pictures to send to Miss Sumeragi and Feldt before hitting the light switch, shutting the door quietly and walking back down the hall.


End file.
